Corruption of the Incorruptible
by Cher A. and Brittany S
Summary: Kiran Mani is wrongly accused of the queen's murder in Dremeadow. When the king's grief-induced madness leads him to order an attack on the unarmed subjects protesting Kiran's innocence, the paladin seeks to ensure the well-being of the newly-displaced refugees. He gets them safely to his homeland Cancalia. Then two disappear- including Folco Foxtrot, prince of Dremeadow.
1. Return to Normalcy?

"And, sir, here's all of the records regarding those who were arrested, today. Most of them seem to be males and either gnomes, humans, or half-elves… there's two dwarves as well."

Kiran Mani shouldered the bag containing over a dozen scrolls, feeling rather exasperated. "Thank you, Max, that will do." The young assistant inclined his head of fiery ginger hair. Kiran's dark eyes flickered toward the window as the Constable of the Northchester watch returned his employee's gesture with a nod. The sun had moved significantly towards the west in the sky. He had now been at headquarters for several hours, and for several hours before that Kiran had been out on the streets, ever-vigilantly assessing his surroundings for signs of evil.

The paladin had spent the morning patrolling the southwest of the city of Northchester, where not much had taken place other than children playing in places they ought not to be playing, a fistfight at midday in the Yowling Bobcat Tavern, a wagon with a broken axle requiring assistance and a vandalized music shop that specialized in string instruments. However, he had returned to headquarters to check on his employees only to learn of a fiasco in which a particularly rowdy group under the influence of an illegal potion that caused hallucinations, excitability, wrath, impulsiveness and rage had caused a lot of trouble in Havers Marketplace. The young constable had accompanied a squadron of his men in apprehending the deviants, who had thrown turnips, squash and potatoes at bystanders, broken clay pots, upset tables and booths in their drug-induced rampage. They had ultimately arrested all of the miscreants, but the question remained of where they had obtained the Draught of Rage. He would need to get members of the Special Operations Task Force, colloquially known as the rogues, to investigate whether one of the suspects was proficient in brewing such a concoction, and if not, where they had gotten it. Kiran let out a low breath, tapping his quill against his desk, as he reread the report written by an employee on the matter yet again as though hoping to see something new. All he noticed, however, was a few spelling errors.

Because it was an unseasonably warm day for January, Kiran could hear many outside from his office, savoring the crisp wintry air and the lack of the brutal wind that frequently buffeted northern Cancalia. The man sighed, wishing he, too, was out there and not confined to his office with paperwork. Off in the distance, the bells of the Pelorian cathedral began to clash and clang out the melodic tune of the national anthem, a sign that it had reached the top of another hour. The paladin hummed along with the song. When it reached a crescendo, the chime commenced. DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG!

Four o'clock. The end of his shift; the deputy constable would be covering the City Watch Headquarters until nine that night. He let out a long, low breath. Even though the paladin enjoyed his job, it has been a trying few hours from when he had spent his lunch break back at the palace-like mansion of Ivan Benoit, the Duke of Northchester and the younger brother of Cancalia's king, until now. Lunch break itself had been exasperating between the muddy road, the unwanted cheese in his stew, and going to check on the refugees from the halfling land of Drémeadow only to find Folco Foxtrot sitting on the top step of the stairway leading up to the massive attic that housed the 200 refugees, evidently having been banished from the makeshift classroom that had been set up for the children and adolescents. That paladin had done his best to admonish the youth without coming across as overbearing, but received a manner of haughty and stone-faced defensiveness.

"That's our bell," Kiran said to Max. His assistant, rather than bidding him farewell, however, remained standing, staring at the constable. Kiran was on the verge of asking what was wrong when he remembered that Max had some of his pay due to him; there had been an error in calculations by those who dealt with the pay of lower-ranked Watch employees. He strolled over to his desk, pulling open the near-flat center drawer. Sifting an owl quill, a pheasant quill and papers with no relevance to the current moment, he extricated a small green pouch. He picked it up and shook it slightly before handing it to the lad. "Here is the pay that was due to you; I apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you."

The younger man nodded, then drew open the moss-colored pouch to confirm the amount. "Thank you, sir," he said finally. "See you tomorrow."

"You're welcome," the constable told his subordinate, "have a good night. I should be in the office around lunchtime, unless anything major comes up." After his assistant departed, Kiran checked that everything in his office containing private documents was properly locked and tidy, then shouldered the bag Max had given him and left for the Duke's

.~~~~

As he passed through Awning Square, the marketplace just to the south of the Duke's gates, the paladin noticed a sizeable group of the refugee children. They varied in age, but Kiran noticed that the group was comprised primarily of older adolescents and their younger siblings. To his dismay, there was also an air of discord; several were visibly quarreling while others looked uncomfortable. It was atypical for there to be outright arguments among the peaceful folk. From what he had discerned during over three weeks of exile, cold, blizzards, dearth in game, and the everlasting fear that the group of nearly two hundred halflings he had taken upon himself to protect- after all, it was partially his fault they had to flee their homeland in the first place- halflings did not generally manifest explicit rivalry and contention, favoring a more subtle approach to conflict. It took serious difficulties indeed to induce outright arguments among the peaceable race. Then again, these were mere children and teenagers who might not have mastered the art of delicacy in dispute….

Moving closer to the bickering youngsters, who were standing in a haphazard circle, in hopes of gleaning whether he needed to concern himself with whatever had happened, Kiran caught several words that caused further concern.

"…oughtn't we to _tell somebody?_ Something could happen to him._"_

"…you worry overmuch…"

The paladin frowned, moving even closer. The squabbling children took no notice.

" It'll be fine, Lindo's looking for him!" one of them, a boy in his late teens named Tumis Wooling, insisted emphatically. "Stop worrying so much!"

"Aye," concurred Tumis' sister Lydia, twirling one of her braids on her finger. "Really, the fool ought not to have run off like that."

One of the younger members of the group, Geronimo said doubtfully, "I think you lot hurt his feelings. Maybe that's why Lindo went to look for him? To say sorry? Didn't you say they were best friends?" Kiran's brow furrowed. He was beginning to get an inkling of who was being discussed. He only hoped he was wrong.

Tumis flapped his hand dismissively. "He'll get over it!"

"Aren't you afraid he's angry at you?" asked Geronimo, sniffling slightly, "since…"

"Please," interjected Lydia. "He was already angry about class."

"You mean when he got in trouble?" replied Geronimo. Kiran's heart sank even further. His theory had grown much stronger; it just needed confirmation. If it was who he thought it was… if he had gone off on his own…

A sullen-looking Donna Tofty snapped, "Never you mind. I don't think anything more of it than that he's making a big fuss over noth- Roxy, stop it!" Five-year-old Roxetta, who had been toying with one of the rips in her cousin's skirt, jumped and relinquished her grip.

"Maybe Folco just went back to the Duke's attic," Clotis put in.

Kiran's stomach seemed to drop out from under him at the mention of the name- the very confirmation he needed. With a swift stride forward that brought him directly behind a taciturn girl named Fern Gardenoff, Kiran demanded "_Where _is His Highness?"

Nearly every child in the group startled. Fern whirled around, wide-eyed. None of them replied, but simply stared, a few of them stammering slightly, looking alarmed at the look on Kiran's face. "Well? He shouldn't be alone!"

"He went that way," replied Misa Salinger bravely, pointing the complete opposite direction of Duke Ivan's. The young man felt his stomach clench.

"He might have doubled back where we could not see?" suggested Clotis.

"That's what Lindo thought," Lydia added, taking heart from the initiative of her brother and friend. "He said he would check the attic." Kiran frowned at them. What was going through their minds? Why weren't they more concerned? Ought they not to have figured out the dangers of the young prince wandering off by himself? _They're just kids…_ a small voice in the back of his mind reminded him. At the same time, if anything happened to him…

His thoughts were broken by a small child's voice from the level of his knee. "What if Prince Folco and Lindo get lost?" asked Roxy. Kiran's eyes widened slightly. Was that the worst they all thought could happen? Folco Foxtrot had many enemies who would happily see him dead, quite possibly his own family included, and he was considered a traitor by his homeland. _And it's my fault_, Kiran thought, _he wouldn't even be in so much danger were it not for me… no, but I didn't do anything wrong either. I was accused unjustly. Those kids might not realize though… or they do but don't want to…_

"He wouldn't… you know… run away?" asked Brenner Wooling dubiously.

Kiran said "well, the main priority now is finding where Folco has gone off to, now, isn't it?" He stared intently down at the young halflings, who ranged in height from around knee-level to his waist. The children fell silent. "Listen closely ," he added sharply, "I want you all to keep an eye out for him, and if you see him, tell him I need to speak with him and wish him to come to me _as soon as possible_. Don't stay out too late. Be sure to be back in time for dinner's distribution. _Make sure_ word gets to me if anyone sees him… _or_ Lindo, for that matter. In fact, if you see Lindo, ask him to come speak with me. Do you understand?" The children glanced sideways at each other, their faces varying from guilt to exasperation to slight fear. "Well?" There was a chorus of nods and mumbles of assent. "Thank you," the paladin said in dismissal, sighing slightly, his brain abuzz with activity. "I will speak with you all later."

This could be very well be nothing; however, Kiran Mani felt very responsible for anything that happened with anyone in this group, particularly Folco. Folco Foxtrot might only be a nineteen-year-old halfling kid struggling to cope with the disaster that had befallen them all as much as the rest, possibly even more as the son of Drémeadow's king and queen, but he was the refugees' reluctant leader and the one glimmer of normality when it came to their life after New Years. His safety was critical for both Kiran's peace of mind and the morale of the group of refugees struggling to obtain a sense of normality and safety after their lives had essentially had been destroyed.

The catalyst of what led to the plight of the refugees was burned into his memory like a brand on flesh. Just over a month ago, the paladin had been dispatched to the city of Hardscrabble in Drémeadow by the Duke's son Hector to discuss medical supplies with the hobbits' king. After he'd reached Drémeadow and neared the dwelling of the royal family, Kiran's divinely given intuition had told him some evil yet to be revealed was afoot. However, after investigations revealed nothing amiss, the paladin had ignored his misgivings. Then came the abrupt, calamitous end of his stay.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is very loosely based off of a D&D campaign my best friend and I played. The term "hobbit" is borrowed from Tolkien until such time as we devise an appropriate name for the small folk.


	2. Unhappy New Year!

_As Kiran strolled down the long cobblestone walkway through the ornately decorated wooden gate of Hrothgar Foxtrot's Drémeadow palace on a sunny New Year's Eve, his dark eyes vigilantly swept his surroundings. The hobbits were in high spirits. Giggling children barely the height of Kiran's knee raced up and down pathways, chasing balls and each other, shouting and shrieking with delight. Clusters laughed and gossiped. Even the feral cats were at play. A pair alternated between chasing each other around the doorstep of a shop that sold fish and placing their front paws on the window where cod and pike were displayed. _I'm growing paranoid with age,_ thought Kiran wryly. He had been unable to shake a nagging sense of dread. _I ought to get a drink to calm down. It is a holiday. I should be celebrating.

_The young man entered a tavern called the Banging Hedgehog and ordered barley ale. After paying, the paladin selected a table near the back that offered a vantage point for people-watching._

_A table of six was immersed in a card game. Another group was swatting a wooden ball back and forth to each other across the round tabletop. A third party belted a drinking song in unison that he'd never heard before. Kiran could overhear snippets of nearby conversations, all of which featured exchanges of local news, family news, comments on the holiday, other tables and the frigid weather, and speculation about King Hrothgar's feast that night. _

_Kiran heaved a long, low sigh, quaffing another mouthful. The ale was doing nothing to assuage his discomfiture. There was no discernible explanation for his fears though; he had yet to witness so much as a fistfight in Drémeadow._

_Not that life was perfect here. A major worry was Jarmir Esteel, one of the king's advisors. He had apparently convinced the monarch that the hobbits would be unable to defend themselves against foreign bandits unless they had assistance from "larger and fiercer races" than themselves, which led to the presence of orc guards. Also, Jarmir Esteel was effectively steering Drémeadow toward isolation, insisting that Drémeadow had been overly generous to other lands in the past and suggesting that other kingdoms were taking advantage and "exaggerating minor problems to garner sympathy." This manipulation sufficed to suggest to Kiran that Esteel did not mean well even without his gift for sensing malevolent intentions.._

_Another concern involved the royal family. When the paladin first entered the kingdom, he'd believed there were two princesses and two princes: Nora, Jillian, Odo and Folco. Then Kiran had overheard a conversation between Folco and the unnerving Jarmir Esteel. In upbraiding Folco for some unknown deed, Jarmir had said "you really ought to be more careful, Folco Foxtrot. I daresay you wouldn't want to end up like your sister, now, would you?" Puzzled, Kiran had entered to inquire the instant Jarmir had left. Folco first responded with evasiveness, then claimed Jarmir had been referring to his sister Jillian. When Kiran stumbled across evidence suggesting the existence of another child, however, he had gone directly to Folco, who said there was a third sister named Xenia who had died. "Please do not mention her though," the prince asked. Kiran kept his word, but could not help but wonder about the deceased daughter whose existence the family was so keen to conceal. _What happened to you, Xenia?

_After Kiran finished his ale, he returned to the Halfling palace to spend time praying, then decided to visit his friend Nont'im at Tasseloft's Inn. On his way out, he saw Folco and a middle-aged halfling. The older hobbit was gesturing towards the kitchen. Kiran caught the words "in your stead." He paused to listen._

"_I don't know, my father said I must…" Folco said dubiously._

"_I will tell your father if necessary that I offered to take your place in the kitchen, Your Highness, you have my word" the older hobbit replied, unconsciously running his hand through his graying hair. "If you wish, I will assure him that you were properly carrying your weight before I came in. I might have noticed you looking tired and offered to take over." A slight smile came onto the youth's face. "Were you not traveling all day yesterday and all this morning?"_

_Folco nodded before frowning. "Are you quite sure, Kirk? Didn't you just get back from a journey abroad yourself? Don't you want rest?" _

_Kirk shook his head. "Thank you, Your Highness, I appreciate your concern, but I'm not tired. Besides, I know you to be an honorable sort of fellow who does not generally renege on promises to friends."_

_Folco beamed. "Very well then, I accept your offer." Kirk smiled widely. "Thanks! I owe you one!" the prince added brightly before hustling towards the main door leading out of the Halfling palace. Stopping a few feet from this exit, he called over his shoulder, "Send word if you need me, will you? The Riverses and I will not be far from the palace. Lindo said something about his little siblings wanting to play Hide and Seek and this area will be best. More places to hide." He turned to directly face Kirk. "Anyway, send word."_

"_Naturally, Your Highness, and safer. I shall if I ah…need your help," the older hobbit replied, sweeping through the door to the kitchens with an eager spring to his step. Prince Folco gave Kiran a small grin of acknowledgement before hastening towards the exit to join his friend Lindo. The paladin uneasily watched the slender prince's retreating back. _

_Kiran spent the next several hours of New Years' Eve visiting Nont'im, watching over Folco and his friend as they played with Lindo's cousins, and readying himself for the feast. By a quarter past seven, all guests had been ushered to their appropriate places in the king's Great Hall for the Pre-New Year's Banquet. The king and queen sat in center with a prince and princess on either side. As a Cancalian emissary, Kiran had been honored with a place at the end of Queen Arabella's side. _

_ After a wine had been distributed to nearly all of the guests, King Hrothgar and Queen Arabella stood. Jillian dropped her hands from her curls to her lap, Nora primly folded her right hand over her left atop the table, Odo straightened very tall in his chair, and Folco, who had been toying with his utensils, replaced them where they belonged. The din of dozens of conversations gradually died down._

_ The king was the first to speak. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the annual Pre-New Years Banquet. I am pleased to see each and every one of you present in my hall, and I would like to thank my staff for ensuring that this banquet would be possible. I intend to keep my speech short-" there were several appreciative smiles among the guests- "as I know everyone is hungry and wishes to eat. We shall commence our feast with my queen leading us all in a toast." A smattering of applause ensued as their king sat and Arabella Foxtrot rose. _

_Queen Arabella held her glass of wine aloft in the air. "My dear hobbits! Thank you all for making the time and effort to travel here tonight in the cold. I greatly appreciate seeing each and every one of you gathered here, as do my king and my sons and daughters. I invite you all to take part in a toast. Please raise your glasses." Kiran tentatively took hold of his glass and cast a quick glance along the High Table to see how Drémeadow did it. Like Cancalia, it seemed they held their drinks aloft in their right hand. The paladin mimicked the motion._

_ "To a happy, prosperous 3015!" Arabella said. The rest of the hall echoed her. "To family and friendship!" Another echo. "To the health of all present in this room!"_

_ At that, the queen began to drain her glass, followed by the king, princes, princesses, Kiran, the others at the High Table and all of the guests._

_The first indication of anything amiss was in Queen Arabella's eyes, which widened as her pupils contracted. Her face blanched to white, then grey, then an ominous greenish hue. A small number noticed immediately- Folco looked apprehensive, Nora said, "Are you well, Mother? Mother?" and some muttered to their neighbors, nodding at the Queen- but most were oblivious. The king himself was engrossed in the guest tables._

_Kiran pushed his chair back, wondering whether he ought to try to help or whether it would do the queen more harm than good. Would she want the assistance? It was a frequent wish of royalty to not be made to look weak. He'd seen it with Cancalia's Benoits. Arabella Foxtrot might prefer concealing her illness. All the same, he wished Nont'im were there. The cleric was a skilled healer who had grown up learning to care for the sick and injured. He watched on tenterhooks, debating whether to intervene. Had Arabella been ill prior to the feast and chosen to conceal it, or- his stomach contorted with anxiety- had something in Her Majesty's wine sickened the queen?_

_Everybody's attention was caught, however, when the Queen collapsed to the ground in convulsions with a resonating crash. There were several cries. Everyone was now fixated on the High Table with all the horrified fascination of watching a tavern brawl that had escalated to drawn weapons. Several royal relatives and all of Hrothgar and Arabella's children left their seats, crowding around the thrashing queen._

"_Stand back! Give her air!" shouted the king in a frightened voice, rushing from his seat to the side of his wife. "Out of my way! I need a healer now! Fetch me a healer! Odo, move aside! You too, Jillian!" The group dispersed, revealing the queen, who had gone utterly still, ashen face turned away from the paladin. Kiran tentatively stepped forward. "I could try to help," he said, but this voice was lost in the ruckus._

_Meanwhile, Jarmir Esteel had emerged. The elf knelt over the queen, seized her wrist, frowned, placed a hand just above her mouth to feel for breath, straightened her face, and checked her neck. Kiran's heart sank as the black-haired advisor touched the queen's eyelids with his pinkies as though closing them. He whispered something to the king, who turned very pale. The Foxtrot children, comprehending, clung to one another, sharing expressions of mingled shock, disbelief and terror. Nora had an arm around both Jillian, who was visibly fighting back tears, and Odo, who was blinking rapidly, rubbing his eyes. A whey-faced Folco gripped his brother's shoulder with one hand, pressing the other against his mouth. The dark brown eyes the youngest had inherited from his mother were the size of saucers._

_Presently, Hrothgar summoned several servants, and the lifeless queen was borne out of the hall into the back chamber. The look in Jarmir's green eyes could chill one's blood._

_Kiran stepped forward, mentally formulating a long list of questions he would ask if he were given permission to help the king's people in investigating the matter of the queen's murder, starting with learning the type of poison that had killed her and where it might be acquired, who had been present in the kitchen, and proceeding from there._

_The king muttered something to Jarmir. His advisor gave a long reply in a whisper impossible to hear through the hullaballoo. The guests looked confused. Many of the younger children were tugging on the arms of their parents. _

_Suddenly Hrothgar stepped forward, extending his finger towards the paladin, his cheeks two bright red spots against a pale background, golden-brown eyes smoldering with fury.. "Paladin! How dare you! You enter my land, we grant you hospitality, and you repay our generosity by taking away my wife's breath and heartbeat and robbing her of life with your poison! Leave at once!"_

After taking leave of the hobbit children with his troubled thoughts, Kiran had walked by his house to change before heading over to the Duke's. To the west, the sky was resplendent with the colors of dusk. To the east, the sky was darkening to the inky black of night.

As he approached the Duke's, Kiran asked the gate guards, "have you seen their leader?" He knew they would know exactly of whom he spoke in his cryptic query. The staff of the Duke's had an understanding that outside the walls of the massive dwelling, they were not to be overly explicit when discussing the refugees, particularly Folco. The Duke had made it clear he did not want word of the presence of the halflings reaching anyone other than those who needed to know. It helped that most of the halflings were homebodies by nature. The children might be given to wandering, but the adults showed little desire to leave the abode where even the large attic offered relative comfort. It was crowded, but Kiran knew that they would take a warm, cramped attic with guaranteed meals in their bellies over huddling together under blankets in caves or clearings exposed to wintry elements.

The guard on left responded, "no, sir, not since he and some other youngsters left."

"Thank you Jonas, Mauro…" The paladin swallowed hard. _Is there any way he might have gotten in without these two seeing him?_

There was the chance Jonas and Mauro had taken a break and had different guards watching while they used the privy. Folco might have returned in that small timeframe. It was unlikely but Kiran needed to eliminate all possibilities that the nineteen-year-old was safely in the limits of the Duke's estate before creating the panic he knew would arise if word got out about Folco's absence. The refugees struggled to keep hope as was. "

The paladin immediately headed for the grand stairway once the door guards, who hadn't seen Folco either, stepped aside to admit him. A cluster of three halfling women were on one of the loveseats sharing a large book on sewing that they had borrowed from the Duke's library of books, admiring one of the sketches reproducing the decorations sewn into a handkerchief. "Excuse me, ladies?" Kiran said, stopping in front of the halflings. He noticed, with slight amusement, that their feet were only a few inches past the edge of the seat. They looked up. "Have you seen Prince Folco?" They shook their heads, puzzled. "Thank you. Enjoy your book." He managed a reassuring smile before ascending the stairs.

The attic was emptying for suppertime. Kiran stepped aside to permit the Salingers to exit before crossing the threshold. The remaining halfings were cutting loose threads from their worn clothes, taking turns with brushing or combing their hair, washing their faces, or searching for clever ways of concealing holes and patches in their clothing.

The paladin looked around for any child from earlier. His gaze fell upon Donna Tofty combing her little cousin's hair. As he drew near, he heard Donna's scolding "Roxy, will you please sit still half a minute so I can get these knots out?"

"You keep pulling my hair!" complained the tiny lass.

Donna, exasperatedly replied, "that's because you keep moving, if you'd sit still for a moment that wouldn't happen."

Roxy desisted, not because of what her cousin said, but because the five-year-old had noticed Kiran's ankles and feet. She craned her head all the way backwards.

"Roxy! Why are you tip- oh, hullo, Kiran," Donna said, pausing in the midst of running a comb through the matted hair.

Kiran immediately asked "Has Folco come back? Have you seen him?"

Donna frowned slightly. "No. We checked a few places but it got dark."

Kiran sighed. "Okay. Could you show me where he's put his stuff?"

Donna slid back and around her cousin, standing. Roxy stood too. Donna led Kiran towards a mattress in one of the back corners with two packs, one cloth with buttons and one leather with gold fastenings. "He and Lindo are sharing this one… er… that's Folco's and that's Lindo's," she added unnecessarily, pointing at the leather with gold for Folco and the cloth for Lindo. Their bows and quivers rested against the wall. Their sheathed swords and lay in front of them. Kiran cringed, making a note to advise both, especially the prince, to carry at least one weapon anytime he left the Duke's.

"Does it look as though anyone's touched their stuff?"

"No," answered Donna.

"All right. I am going to check their bags to see if anything is missing- if they come back and start raising a fuss about their stuff not being in the same spot, please let them know it was me who was going through their bags, since I was worried about their absence." Donna nodded. Kiran unfastened the gold clasp on Folco's bag. The obvious thing to check for was the red velvet pouch in which he kept some of his money. It was very possible Folco had taken it, but Kiran knew the prince generally tried to avoid spending unnecessarily.

Removing a waterskin and tiny dagger and shifting aside some parchment with the prince's handwriting, he saw the purse nestled in a corner. After shifting through the rest of the contents and then Lindo's pack, Kiran was certain the prince and his friend had taken nothing.

Staring fearfully at Folco and Lindo's belongings, Kiran found his mind wandering back to the chaos that erupted the night Queen Arabella had succumbed to poison.

_The king's hall went dead silent. Comprehension dawned on the faces of the stunned guests. Kiran, astonished, stared at the king, utterly bewildered. _What did Esteel tell him? Could _he _ be the one? No, it couldn't have been… he was out of the palace before me and came back right as they were about to lock the gate for the feast.._. Kiran wondered what Jarmir had been doing to make him so late. He had to be innocent in regards to the assassination since he'd been out- or perhaps not. Had there been a plot between the advisor and a member of the kitchen staff? _

_Surely Hrothgar Foxtrot would realize he had accused too hastily in his fear and grief? After all, paladins were bound to an extremely strict code of honor. Kiran had a horse gifted unto him by his god only because he'd loyally obeyed the code to which all paladins were held. _I just need to prove I still have my powers_, Kiran thought._ Then His Majesty will see sense._ Nobody would condemn the king's rash words when his wife had just succumbed to some unknown poison before his helpless eyes. Kiran was quite ready to forgive the livid hobbit his insensible judgment. _

_The occupants of the High Table were utterly still except for Folco, who squirmed feverishly, staring out at the frightened guests. Kiran followed the prince's gaze to a doleful Lindo Rivers before returning to King Hrothgar's eyes, gold flecks still ablaze with wrath._

"_Good Highness," Kiran protested, "I swear to you by my god Heironeous that I had absolutely nothing to do with this terrible deed! I did not tamper with the Queen's drink, nor am I in league with whoever did. I swear on my honor that I would never do commit such a heinous crime as murder. Especially not in such a fashion as poison, and especially not royalty!"_

"_You lie!" accused the enraged king. Mutters among the guests intensified. Kiran wished it were possible to decipher individual voices so he might know what they were saying, in case any of them had any information that would be of use. How could the king jump to judgment so fast, without efforts to investigate? _

"_I'm not lying, I swear. Good Highness, I would take my own neck before slaying the Lady!" Kiran inhaled an aggrieved breath. "Her Majesty is the fairest of all Drémeadow! May Heironeous strike me down where I stand before you _all_ in the utmost of _dishonor_ if _one word_ I have uttered is a lie!"_

"_I don't believe you."_

_Kiran was starting to feel frustrated. "What motive would I have?" he challenged. Around the hall, guest discussions intensified. Prince Folco relinquished his grip on Odo, shifting his scant weight from foot to foot, staring between his father and the paladin. _

_The king's face flushed puce. "You _dare_ ask me to fathom the mind of a murderer? Leave at once, before I decide to eschew continental protocol and have you killed now despite your diplomatic immunity!" He slammed a fist on the table. "You are the Benoit's vassal, yes? Is your lord in on this?" His voice grew, if possible, angrier. "Did Cancalia order you to do this?!"_

_ "Ivan Benoit has done _nothing_ wrong!" Kiran was near to shouting himself, incensed at the accusation against his lord. The Benoits could not be a more honorable royal family. "His Grace has _nothing_ to do with this! Nor have I!" The guests fell silent again, listening. A pale Folco scuffed the toe of his boot into the ground, looking more uncomfortable than ever. Dropping his voice to a more conversational tone, Kiran pleaded, "please, Your Majesty, I could prove my innocence. Paladins can't do a malicious deed like this and still…"_

_ "SILENCE!"_

_Folco suddenly dashed forward, ducking under Jarmir's attempt to stop him, placing himself between the paladin and the king, staring at his father. The prince and the king, Kiran noticed, were the precise same height, although Folco had his mother's coloring, features, and small-boned build._

_Hrothgar looked at his son in surprise. "Folco, this is _not_ the proper time…"_

_ "Father, he didn't do it!" interjected Folco vehemently. "There's _no way_! I _saw_ him, he was _nowhere_ near the kitchen! He couldn't have…"_

_Hrothgar shook his head dismissively. "There was quite a lot to supervise in there. He might easily have slipped past." The king stroked his rounded chin. "Or he might have bribed someone to do his dirty work for him." _

_Folco emitted a sharp breath, throwing up his hands. "Kiran was nearby while Lindo, his siblings and cousins, and I were playing Hide and Seek this afternoon, I _saw_ him!"_

_The king's voice went forebodingly low. The guests towards the front of the tables leaned forward to hear. "Wait. Are you telling me that you disobeyed my orders? You were to be in the kitchen."_

_A stricken expression flitted across the eighteen-year-old's face. "_Yes_," the prince said impatiently, "I _did_, I'm _sorry_, but that's _not_ the point, I-"_

"_We will discuss this later." There was a note of finality._

_ "But…" Folco spluttered in desperation, "please _listen…_ I'm _trying_ to tell-"_

"_That. Is. Enough."_

_Folco ignored the directive. His words grew extremely rapid. "Kiran didn't do it, he _couldn't _have, he was there _all afternoon_ and then helping the servants while we got ready! I'm begging you, _please_! Hear me out!"_

"_I will say no more." The king nudged his son aside, moving closer to the flabbergasted Kiran. Out the corner of his eye, the paladin saw Folco jump off the dais, heading towards Lindo at virtually a run. A few sets of eyes followed him but most remained on the paladin and the king, who did not notice, too fixated was he on denigrating the paladin. "Now. You heard what I said before. Get out, unless you prefer death. I do not want you ever disgracing my kingdom with your presence again."_

_The paladin drew in a long breath, feeling torn. On the one hand, he ought to obey before he made matters worse by lingering. Then again, this was a grave breach of justice. The homicide would never be solved if he washed his hands of the matter. It would be too much of a nonverbal admission of guilt. The true killer needed to be found. What if the perpetrator intended to strike again? It seemed far worse to obey and give the malefactor an opportunity than to ignore the command. _

_Kiran glanced round the room. News of the proceedings had spread quickly from front to back. The atmosphere was charged with discord. Reactions varied from distress to amazement to grief to terror. There were intermittent peeks at the king, at Kiran, and even at Folco and Lindo. _

_Presently, Folco guided his dubious-seeming friend towards his father._

_ Hrothgar Foxtrot, meanwhile, was still fixated on the paladin. His golden-brown eyes fell upon the two youths, but he ignored them. "You dare defy me?" he said._

"_Your Majesty," Kiran replied pleadingly, "please, I beg you to continue investigation before condemning me. Put me on trial, even. With all due respect to Your Highness, you are making a terrible-"_

_ "I have many things to do other than wasting time further proving your guilt," snapped Drémeadow's king._

"Father_! Please…" a tentative Folco Foxtrot began._

_The king glared at the youngest of his progeny. "Did I not say we will speak later?"_

"_But Lindo was with me, he also knows-"_

_ "Don't answer back! I do not need you and your friend wasting any more of my time._

_Lindo reached up, grasping Folco's shoulder. Folco bracingly returned the gesture. Catching the eye of the king and inclining his head respectfully, Lindo said "Your Majesty…"_

_ Hrothgar retorted "that is quite enough from the both of you. I've greater problems than you two." Lindo looked at the ground but Folco stared defiantly back. The king's face was devoid of clemency and understanding._

_ Folco was the first to break the staredown. Shaking his head forlornly, Folco tilted his head towards his father, who looked away in dismissal, then muttered something to his schoolmate, gripped his elbow and started to retreat. "You could at least give him a fair trial as is the _usual_ way," Folco snapped resentfully before leading Lindo back to his family. _

_Most seats were now vacant. Small clusters of hobbits merged into larger group. Halfling guards fidgeted on the outside perimeter, torn between awaiting orders and taking action. In contrast, the orcs looked enthralled. Some appeared to be egging the clamor on, although Kiran could not decipher the words over the hullaballoo in the middle of the room._

_The king ignored the commotion. "Now. This is your final chance. Quit Drémeadow at once or face a well-deserved execution for the blood you have shed! Guards!" The squirming hobbits and the eager orcs subsided. Orcs and hobbits alike formed a line in front of the High Table, erect, motionless, attention rapt on the agitated guests. Several guests stepped forward, forming a line at the front of the room. They appeared wary of the guards and stood about eight feet away, but nonetheless something had emboldened them._

_Kiran felt more conflicted than ever. There were dozens in the room who were disconcerted, to say the least, by the combination of witnessing a murder, a livid king, and an argument between the king and youngest prince. He had never in fifteen years as a paladin encountered a situation like this. Kiran had never in all his life imagined he'd be a suspect of such a heinous crime. He ought to leave now, before matters escalated to the point where his life actually was in jeopardy. However, fleeing would be churlish and cowardly. Then again, he was the only one in danger. He would not do the world any favors by lingering and getting himself killed over a crime he had not committed. _

_The king of Drémeadow had been foolishly quick to accuse. It was reprehensible that Hrothgar adamantly refused to listen to evidence delivered by people pleading on Kiran's behalf, especially given that the two were his own son and his son's best friend. If Foxtrot were a just king, he ought to have been able to set aside his fury at what had happened to his wife. Then again, kings were susceptible to the precise same emotions as their subjects._

_The fact Drémeadow had only been a monarchy for five years was a fact to consider. Although Hrothgar Foxtrot had been on the elected Council for many years, ruling solo was a much heavier burden. He had not been raised to shoulder it from birth like most kings, nor did he have the opportunity to learn from the errors of his forebears. The presence of an advisor like Jarmir Esteel hardly helped. The paladin sighed, bowing slightly before turning to leave the dais._

_The protests broke Kiran's thoughts. It seemed Prince Folco and Lindo were not the only ones who thought him guiltless._

"_Your Majesty, His Highness is just a lad but he's right," entreated an elderly hobbit, "there should be a trial."_

"_We know you're upset, anyone would be, but please be reasonable…"_

"_Forgive me, Your Highness, but you're not being very just in this…"_

"_You're making a terrible mistake!"_

_The king looked, if possible, angrier. Hrothgar's neck, face and ears were virtually the crimson of blood in his wrath. "How dare you!" he roared. "Who is king? The murderer or me?! Your duty is to be loyal to your king! Anyone who would side with the man who just slew your queen over me is a traitor! You know the penalty for treason!"_

_Kiran froze, horrorstruck at what he had just heard. The hobbits imploring for a fair dealing looked stricken and afraid. _

"_But Your Highness!"_

"_We are not traitors, we are trying to…"_

"_How could you say that?"_

_The enraged king quavered with choler, hands balled into fists. "Silence!" he bellowed. "Paladin! Why are you still here?"  
_

_Kiran turned around. "You said your subjects there are traitors." He nodded at the swelling group. "They are not. They merely ask for proper justice," he said quietly. "That is not disloyalty. I will leave, but please do not punish them for seeking a fair trial, that is no crime."_

_Several of the supporters actually clapped their hands two or three times before remembering themselves and subsiding. "If he leaves, I'm going with him, I'm sure he's innocent!"_

"_Me too!"_

"_And me!"_

_The king straightened to full height "NO!" he bellowed. "You are all going to stay right here! If you depart from this hall before I give you permission you are clearly on the side of the assassin! Leave, and you will henceforth be guilty of treason and receive punishment befitting defectors and traitors! My word is law. Paladin, get out or die!"_

_However, King Hrothgar's threat had not cowed the brave halflings defending the paladin's right to a just warning, the king's face changed to a very ugly look. "Guards… arrest them!" He indicated the hobbits at front. "Use whatever force is necessary to stop them!"_

The paladin shuddered slightly to himself, remembering the dreadful scene that had unfolded in which he had succeeded in protecting most of the innocent lives from the ferocity of the orcs in particular only by a hairsbreadth and directed them to convene in Hardscrabble's town square while Hrothgar's forces were in confusion. Nont'im had joined Kiran and the terrified halflings the instant he'd had heard what happened. The paladin and the cleric had led the shellshocked hobbits to a nearby wood and employed divine magic that would temporarily protect the newly displaced halflings while they strove to ascertain just how they might see nearly two hundred refugees out of Dremeadow to a safe location in one piece.

Brushing an imaginary speck from his armor, Kiran took leave of the two lasses and headed toward the stairs leading down from the attic. If Folco was not in the dining hall, the Duke would need to be informed that the prince was unaccounted for as soon as possible.


	3. A Friend in Need

While Kiran was just leaving Northchester City Watch Headquarters for the day, a round-faced, chubby halfling was running as fast as his short legs would carry him in the direction Folco had gone. He raced past the venues of several bakers, an ostler, a cobbler, and a scrivener before reaching a fork in the dirt road.

Lindo Rivers stopped. He felt as though his lungs were on fire. There was a sensation in his side as though a knife had been thrust just below his ribs. Doubling over gasping to clutch the stitch, huffing and puffing, he stared down the forks. There was a crowd of humans, dwarves and elves down both that obscured his view of anything past the mass of trousers, beards, stocking caps and belts. The hobbit's charcoal-grey eyes moved to the street sign. One read "Ventnor Road" and the other was identified as Eleuevite Way.

Straightening, the adolescent jumped up and down. Once he'd eliminated the possibility of spotting Folco that way, Lindo turned down Ventnor towards the first merchant. The booth was selling coin pouches of various sizes and colors. The edge of the wooden table displaying the pouches was the level of his chin.

"Excuse me?" Lindo wheezed, standing on tiptoe and gripping the tabletop.

The shopkeeper, surprised to hear a nearly grown male's voice over two feet below, looked down to see Lindo's slightly pointed ears. "Oh, you're a halfling."

"Right…" said Lindo, deciding against pointing out that his race preferred the term "hobbit," given that they were not half of anything. "Well, have you seen another hobbit? He's the same age as me, eighteen… well, he just turned nineteen so technically a year older. Anyway. He's a few inches taller than me…"

The corpulent human shook his head. "Sorry, you're the only halfling I've seen."

Lindo sighed inwardly. _Humans… they never learn. _However, there were much bigger things at stake than this man's lack of manners. If he tarried too long, something might happen to his friend. Despite the earlier argument, he did not want Folco to fall upon misfortune. "Well, thank you…" He proceeded through the next few booths on Ventnor. None had seen a hobbit of any age.

By the fifth merchant, Lindo was grumbling with frustration. That jeweler had been quite disdainful after eying the boy's torn clothes. _Perhaps I'll try Eluveitie Way.._

The first three booths bore no more luck than Ventnor Road. The fourth merchant, who was selling clay pots, inquired "a half-, no, hobbit, you said? Funny you ask. I did see one as young as you. Was he about this tall?" The chubby woman held her hand several inches above Lindo's head.

His heart leapt. "Yes, he is!" the halfing said enthusiastically. "Tan jacket, green cuffs and pockets and collar? Go- brassy buttons?" He had nearly made the potentially fatal error of saying what they really were, but had remembered the danger of naming their true make and taking of their dinginess from a month in the wilderness just in time.

"Indeed, and olive hose and a burgundy cloak."

Lindo beamed, thrilled to know he was on the right track. "Thank you so much! What way did he go?" The woman pointed further down the road. "Thank you!" the hobbit repeated before hustling further along Eluveitie Way. He still felt deeply worried, but he knew where to go now.

Meanwhile, guilt over the quarrel arose. He had been furious, that was true, and Folco had lashed out at him. However, he, Lindo, had made a particularly caustic comment. After Folco angrily pointed out that at Lindo had the option of returning to his family if he so chose, Lindo had retorted, "_that's_ if they haven't been _arrested_ or _killed_ because of YOUR family! YOU don't have to worry about that happening to them. _They're_ the ones _causing_ the trouble!" In response Folco blanched, recoiling as though Lindo had struck him in the face, then turned heel and sped off. Lindo at first exchanged dismissive shrugs with the others. Logic then overruled frustration and anger, reminding him why they were in Cancalia, what Folco's actions in supporting Kiran over his family's accusation meant, and all the dreadful things that could happen.

He and Folco had been friends since they were five. Lindo knew of many things that were "family business", including the perplexing story of Xenia. She had left Drémeadow for good in early 3010, several months after Dremeadow's monarchy had begun. The flight of Folco's second-oldest sister might have been reason for alarm bells, Lindo surmised. However, it had been no secret that Xenia and her father were often at loggerheads; they had clashed as long as Lindo had known Folco.

The decision for the reorganization had been made in one of the final Council meetings. There had been disapprobation from a slight minority in the population, but Hrothgar Foxtrot had proved effective at improving things the Council had proved inept at remedying, so the hobbits had come to accept the drastic change. Besides, comfort, family, friendships, neighborliness, and fun were higher priorities with the vast majority than politics. The denizens of Drémeadow cared not whether their homeland was a monarchy, oligarchy, magocracy, or the republic it had been so long as they had their family, friends, food, fun and comfort ensured by those willing to assume the burden of running the place. Folco's father had certainly done that.

The trouble was, things were no longer so comfortable in Drémeadow now. Not by a long shot.

"_I must talk to my family, though, I should tell them they should leave, too…" Lindo said, his voice beseeching. "Give me a moment, please…"_

_ "Very well," said Folco, his voice deadpan. He had an expression on his face as though he were about to be sick. He cast a surreptitious glance to make sure none of the guards in the banquet hall were too close. "Meet me in the back chamber and come with me. I will make it as easy as possible for those trying to escape to get out… I'll tell the guards outside my father said he wanted them to reopen the gates to allow latecomers… that should make it possible for them to get away…"_

_ "What about you?" Lindo said, feeling slightly dizzy at the magnitude of the prince's words. "What happens to you when your father finds out that you helped the people he called traitors? Wouldn't you get in terrible trouble?"_

_ Folco's face was grim. "I would."_

_ Lindo felt cold fear seize his heart. "What do you think would…" He swallowed hard, not wanting to complete the sentence._

_ "Happen to me?"Folco finished for him. "I'd never thought… he'd be like this… it's frightening, I never expected this… I don't want to find out. I'll be coming with you."_

_ "You should get your money… your bow and arrow…"_

_ "I will, once I've seen to everyone's escape… if I can," said Folco darkly. _

_ Lindo gave the taller hobbit's arm a squeeze. "Be careful." He returned to where he knew his mother and siblings were seeking refuge under the table and began to tell them, as quickly and quietly as possible, what he and Folco had discussed. _

"_Are you sure of this?" Molla Rivers asked, grasping Lindo's shoulder. Behind his mother, he could see Linda gripping his two youngest siblings, both of whom were crying, to her side. Linus, the second oldest of the six Riverses, stared at his oldest brother in stark disbelief. Lamar gripped his knees anxiously to his chest, rocking back and forth under the table, terrified. _

_ "Afraid so. Look around us… we need to get out of here. The king's gone off the deep end! We could be killed!" As though to prove Lindo's point, there was a heavy thud from above them. An orc's head rolled off the top of the table, bouncing off the bench and landing right next to Linnie. She screamed in fright, scrambling over Linda's lap to Lago's other side and nearly knocking her little brother over in the process._

_ Molla opened her mouth to say something, but a snarling guard bent under the table, leering at them. It reached out to grab Linus, who was blocked from retreat by the family that had neighbored them until Queen Arabella's poisoning, but a hobbit's voice shouted "leave them, they're not doing anything! We're supposed to arrest traitors, His Majesty said!"_

_ "Some of the traitor scum hid!" snarled the orc._

_ "That's a child! The traitors are the ones trying to flee!"_

_ For a petrifying moment, the orc stared at Lindo, and he was sure it would identify him. However, it contented itself with snarling at the quaking Riverses before rejoining the fray. Several other orcs had dropped wounded or dead in his line of vision, as had two of the king's hobbit guards. Kiran was locked in a battle with several orcs at once. Yelling came from the direction of the door to the entrance hall. A large group of those who had been up front were rushing the guards blocking it, armed only with forks and knives grabbed off the table, their only advantage being in numbers against the armed guards._

_ Lindo tore his eyes away, unable to bear the sight of hobbits raising arms against each other. "We need to get out of Drémeadow… Folco himself said so… he's leaving too… he doesn't like what his father's become…"_

_ "Lago and Linnie are too young to travel!" said his mother desperately. _

_ "Mother… I'm afraid of what will happen if we stay… please… I want to go."_

_ "You're needed at home," Molla said sadly. "Your brothers and sisters need you. They already lost their father… please, don't make them lose you too… you're the eldest, you finish school this year… I need you to take over your father's shop…"_

_ A look of grief washed over Lindo's face. "Mother… I could do that if… when things settle down here." He was unsure if they ever would, but he needed to reassure her. _

_ Mistress Rivers' voice dropped to a fearful whisper. She drew in a long breath and closed her eyes. "My son… what if… what if you do not come back?"_

_ A sense of icy cold washed over the young hobbit at the thought of what she implied. Mustering a brave smile, he said, "then I suppose management of the shop will fall to Linus, won't it?"_

_ A lone tear escaped his mother's eye, rolling down her cheek. Lindo averted his eyes; he hated to see his mother cry. "Please… please stay home with the rest of us…"_

_ "Things aren't right. I'm Folco's friend, and he's going to help the people up there escape… or are you saying you think the paladin killed the queen?"_

_ "I don't think that… he only ever helped others while here," his mother said. "He had nothing to gain out of it, but he did anyway."_

_ "So you disagree with the king," he said in a whisper._

_ She nodded. "But that's not the point… we can't just leave… it's winter, it will be too cold for tiny children like Linnie and Lago, and… and I was not up front, His Majesty does not know my thoughts…"_

_ Lindo stroked his chin. A desperate thought occurred to him. "True… but he does know mine… and he knows Folco is close to me, when he finds out what he did… and you know he will… Folco will be gone but if I'm here…"_

_ His mother blanched. "You should go then," she said resignedly. Tears were flowing in full now. She threw her arms around her youngest son. "Lindo, please… try your best to come back one day, will you? I don't want to lose a son like I did my husband."_

_ Lindo swallowed painfully and returned his mother's embrace, kissing her on the cheek. "Goodbye mother… I will see you again one day, I promise… goodbye, all of you. Linus…" his brother's grey eyes looked into his own identical ones, "take care of the others for me. Promise me you'll look after everyone."_

_ "I will," said Linus solemnly. Lindo gave him, then the others, a quick embrace before he slipped off towards the back chamber without looking back at what he was leaving behind._

About a mile up the road, Lindo drew upon a clearing where shopkeepers had set up booths to sell their wares out in plain sight. The sun had sank low. Most booths were vacant or closed, but a potter, flower merchant, toymaker and component dealer for magic-users remained open.

Lindo cared nothing for any of these. He'd spotted a familiar lithe form. "Folco!"

His friend did not look his way. Instead, he stiffened, walking the opposite direction of the voice. Undeterred, Lindo called again, "Folco!" The other hobbit's cadence quickened. Lindo hustled after him on his short legs the best he could. His friend, ever the epitome of Foxtrot stubbornness, quickened after a glance. "Your Highness!" He was not worried about using the title; if questioned, he would lie and say it was an inside joke between the two because Folco was tall for a hobbit.

Folco froze, whirling around fixing Lindo with a long, hard glare. As Lindo drew level, stopping an arm's length away, Folco cocked an eyebrow. "Since when do you call me that?" he asked quietly.

Unabashed, Lindo responded, "since when do you treat me like you only answer to your title from me?"

Folco did not look amused. "I do not find that very funny at all," he said brusquely.

"I'm not known for being the class clown," said Lindo airily. Folco raised an eyebrow. "Anyway… you shouldn't be out here by yourself."

"Really?" said Folco. "Says who?"

Lindo threw up his hands exasperatedly. "Says someone who does not want anything happening to you!"

His friend frowned. "Don't you? Weren't you just talking about how you and everybody else thinks that I'm a spoiled brat?"

Lindo fidgeted uncomfortably. "That's not… I do not think…" Perhaps his irate words might have come across like that to Folco, Lindo thought, but he certainly knew the Foxtrot children were not coddled and indulged by their strict parents.

Folco continued, "Or that I'm incapable of doing anything for myself? Oh, can't forget how you threw everything that's happened in my face!"

"I did nothing of the sort!" Lindo protested defensively.

Folco's eyes darkened. "You could go back to Drémeadow and your family anytime you want if your family hasn't been killed or arrested because of mine- _sound familiar?_"

Lindo yelped his frustration. "Well, it's tr-"

"_How the blazes do you think it feels knowing that?_" Folco venomously said through his teeth. "Did I ask to be part of this? NO! Do you _honestly_ believe…"

Lindo was no longer listening. He'd just seen something that made him very nervous. "Folco…"

"Did I ask to be where I am now?" he plunged on bitterly. "Did I choose my family? Did I-"

Lindo half-heard Folco's words, tinged with sorrow and frustration, but what he saw now superseded the conflict between them. "Folco, please…"

"Are you even listening to me?"

Lindo jerked his head. "Look," he whispered.

Folco's forehead crinkled in a deep frown as he looked. Lindo moved protectively closer. "Oooooh my… this looks like trouble…"

Lindo glanced around, hoping to see a human, elf, gnome or dwarf in attire emblazoned with the insignia Kiran bore when on duty, but to no avail. Not one was in sight. _Where is the Watch when we need them?_


End file.
